King Rat
by Enemy of Righteousness
Summary: Izaya was the leader of the ruthless Blue Squares, a man who didn't blink when killing even children. Shizuo was a bartender at the Speakeasy Dollars who hated violence. They have no connections,until the people around them tie them together. Shizaya


**Remember, this story takes place in the 1920's in Detroit, Michigan during prohibition!**  
**Also, all those youngsters (Mikado, Anri, Kida, etc) are all in their early twenties. (Twenty one, kiddos! How else are they going to be getting into that Speakeasy and consume some good old bootleg alcohol, eh?)**  
**Also, Celty has her head in this. No headless horsewoman riding around tonight, sorry children!**

**Warning: Violence (That means blood and gore, kids!), substance abuse, illicit activity, murder, abuse (Domestic abuse, child abuse, self abuse and animal abuse), dog fights, Slash (BoyxBoy and GirlxGirl!), Mental Disorders (Along with sadism and pure insanity), gambling, prostitution, organized crime (Gangs!), racism & hate crimes (By the characters, dear sir, not from me!), sexual situations, rape, alternative universe, kidnapping, slavery, arson, corruption, drug distribution & manufacturing, stalking, theft & burglary, vandalism.**

**Now you're on the trolley!**

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The room smelt strongly of rotting wood, mold, and rusting metal. There was an uncomfortable draft swimming through the abandoned warehouse where vermin were the only occupants. All the windows were either boarded up or smashed, leaving a river of glimmering shards on the grime covered tiled floor. The only light in the room came from the roof, which had caved in months earlier. The cold sunlight reflected off the moon gave the walls, stairs and stray objects shape and shadows. If it wasn't for this convenience the dark mass astray in the middle would be left unnoticed, instead of morphing into the dark and remaining nonexistent. Without it, they might as well be nonexistent.

The shape coughed itself awake, feeling of numbness and post-hypothermia taking over it's thin frame. It took a moment, after passing the fuzzy feeling that took over one's mind and the blurred vision, the shape began taking notice of the area around it. This is the exact moment in which such intelligent being realized it's unfamiliarity with the surrounding area. It's eyes looked over the area, only to see dark shapes that he couldn't identify. But it didn't take a genius to tell that the place he was in had been abandoned long ago.

A loud gulp gave the space sound before it tried to move against the restraints keeping it to the chair, as this was also the exact moment where the shape realized it's true position. Harsh pain shot through the human's bare skin, barbed wire was coiled around the ropes for an extra aid. Now bleeding, well, bleeding more then he was before, adrenaline shot through the young male's veins when he recognized his entire predicament. His brain began working at his memories, trying to bring up the last moments he could remember.

He was at his very own Speakeasy, Dollars, sorting through his recent bills and discussing the rising power of the infamous gang, The Blue Squares, with the manager. It wasn't a very interesting conversation; it only consisted of stating the obvious. Afterwards he went home to make dinner; but other than that, his memory was blank. His thoughts went back to The Blue Squares, the possibility of them being the reason for this would make sense. The Blue Squares were professionals in every area of crime, and providing bootleg alcohol was just their newest source of revenue.

It just so happened, being afflicted with Blue Squares was a position he had found himself in. They did have the best and safest alcohol supply after all, and risking the lives of his customers because of some bathtub gin wasn't something he wanted in his business. This conversation wasn't anything unusual, just another of his everyday concerns and stresses. In his eyes, it was just another average day in his life, unless he missed something important. He breathing hitched, lest he missed an important deadline or payment.

This wasn't the end of it though, you see, Dollars just wasn't an illegal bar. It was a large group of vigilantes, despite the irony with it being involved in so many illicit acts. The first idea was to make everything a bit better, little by little. Helping people was his goal, attempting to stop some of the violence in this city. The thing was, the gang was widespread and it was hard to keep control of its members. Orders were rare, and some of the members were rather impatient with the way things were moving. The two gangs had a very rocky relationship to say the least.

Dollars was a loyal and valued customer, but it's members were prone to cause problems when they are left without a leash. Neither of the sides were happy with the outcomes, it could only mean trouble. The man, left in the cold winter air in only his boxers could only hope for mercy now. Mercy, it was something that was guaranteed to never be shown by The Blue Squares. He knew in the put of his turning stomach that he was as good as a dead man now.

"You know, I told you not to take any wooden nickels'! But hey, who would listen to little old me anyways?" The man's heart skip a beat as the color drained from his face. He blistering cold felt worse than it had before, as if all the blood in his veins were frozen solid. He couldn't move, he wouldn't dare to. Out of every voice, that was the last one he wanted to hear. That playful, mischievous and oh so deadly voice that rang through his darkest nightmares.

The raved haired man looked around him, a pair of bloodshot blue eyes searched for his captor among the snow covered rubble. He knew that the man wouldn't show himself if he didn't want to, his efforts were futile. The light crunch of snow and glass mingled in the air, forcing his hearts record to skip a bet. His eyes searched vigorously, even if the exact location it came from could not be pinpointed. If he was lucky he would get a glimpse of him before anything bad could happen, so he could prepare himself from the acts of violence ahead of him.

This was a high hope, until he fell face first onto the floor as the other kicked his chair over. He cried out in pain as small shards of glass pierced his skin along with the stunning pain of barbs digging farther into his raw flesh. "Do you know how cute you sound when you scream, Mikado?" The words made Mikado instantly grow quite; he shouldn't be giving him the reaction he was looking for. He shivered when a brown loafer found it's place on the side of his head before the other shifted his weight to his skull. Mikado whimpered, holding his scream in to prevent giving his captor any kind of sick satisfaction.

It was a terrible feeling, excruciating to say the least. His head felt like it was about to burst with all the pressure being forced upon it. Instead, he tried focusing on looking up to the man who pinned him down, bringing his own blue eyes to meet the bizarre mixture of brown and crimson. His body started involuntarily trembling as the notorious Izaya Orihara grinned down at him with sadistic excitement flashing through his eyes. The expression made him sick, for he was only left to wonder what the owner of those eyes might do to him.

"Now now, don't be afraid little bird, you're a good boy." Mikado couldn't trust his words with his face twisted like that. "I'm only going to give you a little, warning." His nerves did not calm because in the mind of the infamous Izaya Orihara, a warning could mean a very painful and drawn out execution. The man pulled a switch blade from his pocket, leaning down to cut his victim from his restraints. There was a slight feeling of relief that pulsed through his body, but it wasn't much compared to his current state. Even when free, Mikado didn't dare to move and remained frozen in place like he had before. His breathing was even done carefully, for a single move could set the man off. Izaya simply smirked at his fear and submission, licking his dry lips before flipping the boy over on his back.

Neither spoke, not even when the older man straddled the younger, ignoring the glass cutting his clothes and skin. The blade was pressed to his neck, it felt of ice, but by now the smaller man was more than used to it. Mikado's trembling did not cease, and his voice remained stuck in his throat; he wouldn't dare to speak a single word. "Now, I usually don't mind such minor interferences, but I've been losing both profit and entertainment." The blade moved across his skin in such a way that only a small string of blood would trickle out.

The blue eyed man winced, biting his tongue as he focused on paying attention to what was being said. "Sadly," The man's face was pulled into a frown; one that he could not tell was false, true or exaggerated. "I cannot tolerate such things." Mikado made a noise of acknowledgment, hoping to do everything in his power to prevent the man with the choppy black hair from slitting his throat and ending his meaningless existence right then and there. Maybe he would get lucky and walk away alive, but he knew many people in this position didn't. Stay on his good side, don't do anything to aggravate him, were the thoughts running through his head.

"Now that your little followers have been picking fights with my men the others have been getting big headed, thinking it alright to futz around with me." The blade was pressed firmer now, making the smaller man wearier of every ticking second. "Those hopped up high hats are always bringing the fuzz around." The frown grew into a sneer and the blade was removed from his neck and placed on his chest. The blade cut into his skin, trailing down making a thin, bleeding line. Mikado couldn't hold back his gasp, his face now starting to contort in pain.

"I have to say, I'm sick of my men coming up to me telling me good news for people who hate bad news of things that should not be happening." Mikado swore he could feel the man's glare burning into his skin, it would be nice to think of that being where his pain was coming from instead of the lines of shallow cuts starting to appear on his body. To his slight disappointment, he had never been one to delude himself to think such things.

"Oh, sorry to inform you sir," Izaya's voice dropped an octave, imitating some of his more beefy men. "But the old Sears warehouse was raided by some cops last night during a dog fight. Yes, we lost three hundred dollars in that one. It was a large fight sir, too bad because out mutts were wining. That was until some vigilantes crashed the place. Also, some of The Purple Gang capped some of our boys selling quill on the edge of our turf. At the rate this is going, they'll be another dispute. Oh, by the way, they arrested some of our streetwalkers the other night." There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he pressed down harder on the knife. He could practically feel Izaya's anger and frustration radiating off him, consuming him in a suffocating feeling.

Mikado couldn't hold it in any longer; a bloodcurdling scream shook the silence once Izaya decided it necessary to mutilate his body. He slashed the knife across his chest, no longer holding back as he forced his pent up stress out on the weaker man. The petite boy trashed his body, no longer paying attention to his brain of what will truly save him or not and only reacted on pure human instinct. All of his kicking and pushing had no effect on the man that loomed over him, using his own weight to keep him in place. He bones felt like they were breaking underneath the older man, making this punishment session a lot more excruciating than the ones before it.

It seemed like hours went by when merely minutes passed them. With every attack Mikado grew considerably weaker than before. His body started feeling numb, as if he couldn't move his body if he wanted to. He brain was blurred, everything felt fuzzy and cold once again; again his sense of eyesight was hindered as only shadows filled his vision now. Mikado could feel his heart speeding faster, occasionally skipping beats. The adrenaline flowing through his veins felt weaker, until it felt like he had no strength left in him at all. He was going to die, he knew it as he realized the pain and noise getting further and further away from him.

The man didn't stop until he was out of breath and had to keep his hands on the floor to prevent his self from falling over. By now Mikado could only just hear his heavy breathing as he struggled to compose himself. The sharp shards of glass and metal didn't phase him, as he was busy panting above the bleeding boy, consumed in his own thoughts. It wasn't long before Izaya sat back up; wiping the blood from his hands on the boy's thighs before lifting himself up from the ground. Mikado still didn't dare to move, not wanted to push the unstable man over the edge on accident once again.

A plastic bag was kicked next to him and Mikado forced himself to sit up even if every inch of his body was protesting. By now his body was numb with pain and his senses wer deteriorating, it must be some sort of miracle for him to even be conscious. Without question he opened the bag, relieved to see a first aid kit, his clothes and a few coins inside. He looked up to the most feared man in Detroit city, searching for some sort of explanation or excuse.

"I told you, you're not bad. There's a payphone down the street." Mikado nodded, feeling oddly thankful for Izaya's black and white thinking. He pushed his feeling away, this man almost killed him, there was no way he would let a case of Stockholm syndrome take over now. "I'll see you another time, Mi-ka-do." The man, who was much more like a demon than a human being, waved to him casually as if nothing had ever happened. His bony hand was still very bloodstained, Mikado figured his was either used to it or possibly even liked it, and walked off without another word.

There's a saying out there that goes something like 'Another day, another dollar' but for Izaya Orihara, it was more like 'Another day, another victim. This was one person who wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty and knew every which way of the system. He's a ruthless man with no loyalties, being an informant before he started craving power and control, a man that wouldn't hesitate to save his own skin. He knew how to take control of any situation and twist it to be in his own favor. He knew how to avoid things that will hinder him, for he had not once been caught by the police he hasn't convinced to let his gang in peace. He knew how to start things, for chaos seemed to always follow him. It was safe to say that Izaya was the equivalent a rat. But if you said this to his face though; he would simply roll his eyes and deny it. He would claim that he was no longer such a thing, that he rose above everyone else.

"They might as well make me God." A single domino fell over, it's impact with the polished wooden down rebounded through the long rectangular room. Izaya Orihara sat alone, wrapped up in his own thoughts once again. His eyes scanned through his book shelves, which were filled with stray, yellowing papers and overturned framed photographs. As always he choose to ignore these things, like they never existed in the first place. Just over look them, he would tell himself, don't let it become a burden.

The smell of fresh coffee lingered around him, but the full mug was left untouched by the man. It wouldn't interest him at the moment; there were other things that needed his undivided attention. His eyes looked back down to his desk; he seemed to glare at the piles of papers that crowded the table top.

He was doing too much of this these days, thinking. He was always blankly staring at something, the activity in his mind detaching himself from reality. At first it didn't really bother him, but now it was really doing it's deed at pissing him off. His teeth bit the inside of his cheek as things he didn't want to think about surfaced in his mind. It's been years, forever even, so why do thoughts still haunt him? It wasn't fair and not fun at all. Why does something always have to be out to ruin his day?

It seems as if no matter how hard he tried the past would always be looming over him, like a warrant for his own execution. He grinned, right, execution, how could he possibly forget? Lifting himself off of the cushioned maroon chair he made his way to a matching maroon door. His body soon was covered by his dark, fur lined jacket, before the man disappeared from the rectangle room and down the hallway.

Izaya never had a better idea in his life; taking over The Blue Squares from the inside out was the best thing he had ever done, there was no doubt about it. He had more power than anyone in the area could ever hope for. It was him that controlled everything. It could be from drugs, prostitution, dog fights, gambling, slavery, anything at all, it was in his power. He heavily profited from all of this, making money something that was never worried about. Even if being an informant was fun too, he couldn't help but find this possibly even more entertaining. No, he couldn't call one better than the other. They were entirely different, and had two different effects on him. This certainly had a lot more perks, and a lot more money and power involved with it.

If you wanted liquor, you would get it from him. If anyone even spoke about going across to Canada to buy liquor from their factories, they might as well consider them self corpses printed on the morning papers. Crossing him was one thing people feared more than all, as murder was something he didn't mind at all. A malicious grin grew on his face; in fact, it was one of his favorite things. It was thoroughly enjoyed to fool them to believe in false hope. All to slowing ending their life so he could hear their sweet screams. It was even better when killing them in front of people that cared for their pathetic selves. The crying, the begging, the screaming, the struggle, the adrenaline, he loved it all. He wanted more, hell, he needed more.

They couldn't stop him, no matter how hard they tried. If anyone was to defy him, he would end their lives. The law was even trembling before him, most even agreed to stay out of his way just for some measly payments that didn't even put a scratch on his wallet. Humans really were pathetic, worse then even the smallest single cell organism.

Feelings of excitement filled him when he pushed past heavy, rusting metal doors. The smell of blood consumed him, his heart beat was increasing by the moment. Izaya looked around the room, a room almost covered completely with blood. It had to be his favorite place of all, his little execution room. This was his little box of fun, his fantasy land; his escape, where all the fantasies and thoughts that probed his mind could take place.

"Well, what do we have here?" He grinned, looking down at three men tied up on the floor. Each looked up at him fear stricken, they didn't move a muscle. Each of them had a muscular build, their hair shaved off leaving them bald. Their simple trousers and long sleeved shirts were torn and covered in dirt, dust and of course with he addition of their own blood.

"Marcus." He looked to the man at the far right, the tallest man with dark skin and eyes. "I let you into my world, despite of your race, like so many others wouldn't. This is how you repay me? Taking more of your profits than you're allowed to? I'm disappointed." The man didn't look away, the thought of appearing strong without fear took over his mind. Izaya shook his head, looking to the smaller pal guy next to him. "You, Christen, even had the nerve to lead an attack on a rival gang. Thanks to you, Mister Ex-Solider, I had to deal with a loss in cash thanks to some of the other men getting capped. They were rather important in the manufacturing in drugs, more difficult ones at that. It'll be hard to replace them..." He sighed, as if disappointed when the man refused to look him in the eyes. He was too busy trembling, knowing that these were his last living moment.

Izaya walked over to the last man, a Scottish man with ginger hair and pale pink skin. "You, you disappoint me the most, Rònan." The man looked up at him, brown eyes swimming in fear, but not for his self. "You cost me many damages, and it's something I just cannot forgive. You know this, right?" The man nodded when Izaya didn't speak on. "Fire you decide it's okay to take the products I give you for yourself. Next you don't give me my cut of your profits." The man locked eyes with the floor, refusing to even bother to justify his actions. "You start reckless fights due to your failure to keep your anger hidden." Izaya's eyes narrowed as he shook his head.

"One up-scale riot wasn't something we needed to step to, Rònan. You know, the police arrested a lot of our men. Yes, we got most of them back, but at a very hefty price. It's not the easiest task done; you out of all people should know this." The slender man stopped speaking for a moment before squatting down to his level. "It's too bad you didn't think before you acted." The red head looked back up at Izaya, both fear and curiosity shining in his eyes. "I'll assure you, you're little wife is far from being safe." Just like that all the color vanished from his face, making him look absolutely ghost like.

The only man not in restraints pulled out a revolver, which had been tucked away in the back of his pants; held up by his black leather belt. Izaya aimed at the dark skinned man, and fired. His aim was perfect as the bullet made quick contact with the top of his head. A spray of fresh blood flew through the air, with a few droplets landing on Izaya's clothing. He took no notice of this and only aimed for the second man, who was struggling to escape from the bondage's. Not another second went by before the loud, rebounding sound of the gun filled the room for the second time today. The two man lied there, both very much dead, the pool of blood starting to form was enough proof itself.

He turned to the last man; a wicked smirk stretched across is face in an instant. Oh the look on this mans face was absolutely perfect. His eyes were bulging out of his head, his mouth open ajar. He was pale, but the drops of blood from the others gave him some color. "Your death is not today, insignificant one." The man's frame relaxed, but Izaya only laughed at his reaction. Would he dare to think he would get off Scott-free? "Do not feel too relaxed, your last moments will be much worse than what you had witnessed just now. Once again his face turned paper while, eyes fixated on the cunning man as he made his exit without a word.

A man in a pinstripe suit stood outside the room, his blond hair was sleeked back and his piercing gray eyes looked down at Izaya. The mad was at least three times Izaya's side, and held a large potato sack in his beefy right hand. The bad seemed somewhat ordinary, until the man shook the bad, causing it's contents to squeal and squirm. Izaya looked down the bag, a curious expression on his face, before looking up to the man. By then, his expression could be described as a child hiding excitement. His eyes seemed lively, he stood up straight and did his best to hide the grin his emotions wanted to create.

"What's this, Egon?" Izaya asked, poking the bag with his index finger. The large German man's expression didn't change, but his actions were careful. "The runts of some litters...we have no use for them at this time of year." This was true, as it was the beginning of December, not many people were interested in buying puppies. Most would wait until right around Christmas, and no one wanted to bother taking care of the small animals for such a long time around here.

Before the man got the chance to speak again, the smaller male held up his hand to cut him off. "Don't worry; I'll take care of it." He spoke, nearly in sing-song. The man sighed, looking rather relieved at his words before handing the bag to the menacing looking man. "Thank you, boss." He said before handing him the sack of puppies.

Izaya gave up and let him self grin as he lifted the bad of squirming animals in his right hand. "How cute~." He murmured when they started making soft noises in their little pile up. He looked up to Egon with eyes sparkling; once again like a small child's. "Tell me, what will the temperature be tonight?" The beefy man didn't hesitate to tell him that it would be below zero.

"Thanks, I'll see you later. Don't get into any trouble now!" The sing-song nature of his voice was still present while he waved at walked off. The man only nodded and walked off, happy that the encounter went well. As long as the boss was happy, they would be happy, that's how things usual worked around here.

Izaya's steps became wider and a slight bounce was added to them. He was so happy, so glad, even overjoyed! This is just what he needed, for his murders earlier weren't able to thrill him enough. It was rarely good enough anymore, after being in this line of business for so long. Thoughts ran through his mind, what should he do? What could he do? What would be funniest? Should he stick to one idea or many? Oh, thanks to his mind the possibilities would forever remain countless.

He neared his office once again now, and his steps became faster than before. He absolutely couldn't wait! Why should he wait anyways? It should have been done by now, ah, but no. That would be much too fast! It needed to be slow, for that could be even better! It usually was so much better, so much more entertaining and fulfilling.

The grin just wouldn't leave Izaya's face. The small framed man walked back inside his office, the bag full of worthless puppies still being held up by his right hand. Without noticing it the man started humming a jazz song he heard on the radio the other day. Although, it wasn't like him to remember a name of something that did not matter; the song remained unnamed.

By now he was practically skipping down to the other side of the room. He even twirled once or twice, before setting the bag down on his cluttered desk. He picked up a caramel candy off of the desk and placed it within his mouth. The candy tasted a lot sweeter than usual. He opened the bag, peering inside before taking out the small furry creature on the top. He smiled as the scared animal squirmed within his grasp, blindly swinging its black furred head from side to side.

Izaya kissed the animal on the top of it's small head, before returning it to the bag. It was great, too great, for he could feel the excitement running through his veins. He could hardly contain himself, as he picked up the bag once again and neared the back wall. His breathing changed drastically, it became ridged and faster as he approached the doors to his balcony.

His hand was shaking as he opened the door; the burst of cold air that consumed had no affect on him now. Izaya pulled the bag over a large pile of snow. The small animals were already squeaking among themselves because of the cold, but this only made his grin grow bigger. He dropped the bag in the next moments, immediately their squeals grew louder. He grinned as he tied a knot at the top of the bag to prevent them from escaping. Not that it would do them any good to escape, but it was so much more amusing this way.

It was this kind of sick pleasure that put him in a good mood. He felt so elevated, so alive at that very moment. For some people they used alcohol, or drugs, and others used sex to get away. People would do all sorts of things to become happy and forget everything. This kind of thing was his, everything felt so great. It was like nothing else matter besides their helpless squeals and barking. The screams and cries of humans were even better.

He breathed in, his nerves finally faded away and a soft smile appeared on his face. It was so nice, so peaceful, and so perfect. This was good enough for now, it was enough to satisfy him for the time being. He made his way back into his office, taking a seat at his desk. The smiled stayed perfectly intact on his face; he could still hear them beyond the glass door.

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**I would like to thank my awesome beta, ReticentlyYellow, for looking over this! **


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